


A cross he has to bear

by maradidepaig



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Revenge, Torture, maybe a little OOC but I dont care, sacrifice for loved ones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-01 16:33:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 6,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11490318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maradidepaig/pseuds/maradidepaig
Summary: To avenge for his loved one, Jim Moriarty has planned on something big. He captured and tortured John, in order to lure Sherlock out. Knowing full well that unavoidable fate lies in wait for him, Sherlock bravely sacrifices himself to trade for John's safety.





	1. How it all begins

**Author's Note:**

> This is work in progress, and summer holidays are in wait, so I can expect boring days ahead. A less busy schedule may give me some free time, and I will try my best to write : )

Sebastian Moran woke up with immense pain on his body. He tried to move but realized that his hands were tied up high above his head to the ceiling. His wrist was swollen and sore from the bounding. He was blindfolded, and uneasiness swept in.

“Where am I?” He thought to himself. “Is the professor safe? Has he escaped unharmed?” Worriedness nagged at him, gnawing his mind. He was desperate to protect the professor.

Distant footsteps echoed along the hallway, and stopped at Moran’s room.

“Finally. You’re awake, Sebastian Moran. ” A cold, deep voice addressed him. “I must apologize for this awkward situation that you are currently in. There is something I need from you. Would you mind providing me with it?”

Moran was furious. He would never yield to these evil monsters. He must protect his master.

“Fine. Sooner or later you will give in. It is just a matter of time. So tell me, where is Moriarty?”

Moran felt his rage boiling in his heart. No matter what kind of torments await him, even Death itself, he would keep his mouth shut. He would never, ever betray the professor.

His torturer heaved a long sigh, and Moran felt a lash of pain on his hips. And then on his knees. Another on his chest. Moran was whipped, and whipped, and whipped, and he felt his body weak and broken.

Eventually, the lashes stopped. Everywhere on his body ached with boiling pain. Blood ran out from his wounds like tiny little streams of red. Moran was exhausted. He was panicking with fear.

Someone kicked him hard on his stomach, and he cried out a painful scream. “Moriarty! Tell me his whereabouts!”

Moran, again, refused. He felt a needle injected into his arms, but he didn’t know what the chemical was. In a few seconds, his arm muscles twisted and contracted painfully, causing incredible and intolerable discomfort to him. His whole body trembled and shook, his head feeling as if being squashed to pieces. His shrill, piercing screams echoed in the metal-walled chamber.

The torture stopped suddenly, and Moran was already so weak that he was on the verge of fainting. A man came in and removed his blindfold. The sudden vision of colours confused Moran, and he blinked his eyes.

Moran knew the face before him. The wicked smile and twisted features belonged to no other man than Mycroft Holmes, the constant enemy of his master.

Following closely, was Sherlock Holmes, the arch enemy of the professor. For all the troubles and hardships the professor suffered because of the Holmes brothers, a sense of disgust rushed into Moran’s mind.

“What now? Has he yielded?” The younger Holmes asked impatiently. The torturer shook his head in dismay.

“Impressive physique. However precious time cannot be wasted, Moriarty will start his next attacks soon. There is not a moment to lose. Well then, chop off his fingers one by one till he talks.” Sherlock Holmes said callously, and he left with his brother.

Seeing the axe above his hand, Moran closed his eyes and awaited the agony.

There were sudden gunshots outside the room. A smile went across Moran’s face. He knew the professor would save him!

Armed men burst into the chamber and killed the torturer. The intruders freed Moran and carried him into a waiting black limousine. James Moriarty was on the passenger seat, beside Moran.

“Professor! You’re safe! You got me out!” Moran was touched.

Moriarty looked at the battered man, and pulled him to a tight embrace. “Sebastian, I will never, _never_ , leave you behind.” Moriarty kissed Moran softly on the cheek.


	2. Revenge

Taking the opportunity when John went to a date, Sherlock did one of his experiment. This time on the prolonged metabolic stages of cell respiration after death. He just finished his experiment when his phone flashed. It was a text alert from an unknown sender.

 

**Enjoying your experiments at home, alone, Sherlock? Did you miss your pet?**

_"Who are you?_ " Sherlock typed. 

**I can read your thought. Who am I? Figure that out with your smart little mind.**

Sherlock felt uneasy. Who was this? What was he or she implying?

**“Oh no, where is John?” screams your brain. Isn’t John safely at the house of Sarah Sawyer?**

_Moriarty. I know it’s you._

**Oops! Sorry :(  I heard the screams of John in my cellar. Why is he in my place? Why is he screaming? You have to find it out, Sherlock.**

_Why should I believe you?_

**That’s a silly question, Sherlock. You are getting dumber.**

Downloading picture… Please wait…

Sherlock clicked open the image and was so shocked that a gasp escaped his mouth. The background was an unfamiliar cellar. There was a bleeding body, tied up, badly beaten, and crouched into a tight little ball on the bloody floor like a weak little animal. Sherlock, having an uneasy feeling, enlarged the image and felt dizzy when he saw that the person was John.

**John will die here, slowly and heart-broken, tortured and humiliated. Meet me at St. Bart’s rooftop at 14:30, and you can use your life to trade for John’s. Interesting game, isn’t it?**

Lines of sweat rolled down along Sherlock’s face. He must act, now, as Moriarty was sure not kidding. Sooner or later, he would take his revenge for the sake of the sufferings of Sebastian Moran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter coming : D


	3. Determined

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is determined to save John, even when he had to use his own life to trade for John's. Even Mycroft couldn't stop him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though it is a short chapter, i hope u'll like it. New chapters coming out!!

“For God’s sake, Sherlock, striking a deal with a criminal mastermind is no child play. You can’t just go into Moriarty’s organization and ask for John’s return. You know that he will lock you up, and beat you, and kill you. This is a no-return journey! You’re going to hell, Sherlock! I can’t let you do that!” Mycroft stared at Sherlock, his cold hard eyes suddenly welled with tears.   
“I know, Mycroft. But I have to go. I can’t let them torture John, while I am happily sitting in this den, hiding. This is all my fault. If I haven’t chased after Moriarty, this will never happen. John is my everything, and I cannot let him die, because of my career, because of me.” Sherlock said with a hint of sadness in his voice.   
Mycroft knew very well, that he could never make Sherlock do what he did not want to do. With or without his objection, Sherlock would still risk everything to rescue John.   
“I can ask my men to dig Moriarty’s den out and save Dr. Watson. You don’t have to go.” Mycroft said, obviously not believing in himself as well.   
“Forget it. All your men would have been dead before they could see where the sniper was.” Sherlock put on his coat and was about to leave. “Quick, there’s not a moment to lose. Each second we idle is a torture to John. Move away, Mycroft.” He motioned to his brother, who was blocking the door.   
Mycroft heaved a long sigh. “Alright Sherlock.” He clutched Sherlock’s shoulder tightly. “Just remember, I love you, and I’ll always be there for you. No matter what happens. You’re always the cute and emotional little brother in my heart. I wish you good luck, and may God bless you and help you through whatever is going to happen to you.”  
Sherlock smiled briefly. He muttered “Thanks, Mycroft.” before rushing out of the flat, into the cold winter streets.


	4. I can do anything for you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock went to his meeting with Moriarty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still a short chapter. I'm not sure if I've got a thing with short paragraphs
> 
> Anyway THIS IS IMPORTANT: Listen, I don't reli know how Moriarty could survive and be alive after the Reichenbach's fall, and dont ask me why he isnt dead. I HAVE NO IDEA.

The rusty iron door squeaked as Sherlock pushed it open. He would still shiver when he set foot on this very area, where he had had his near-death experience a few years ago. Now he’s here again, bravely facing his doomed fate. He’d be ready for anything, just to protect John.

The bright, mid-day sun shone on the shiny tiles of the rooftop at St. Bart’s Hospital. At a distance, Sherlock could see the silhouette of a man, sitting at the edge.

“Where? Where did you put him? What have you done to him?” Sherlock said anxiously, although pretending to be cold.

“The same place where I’ll take you to, right now.” The man still had his back facing Sherlock. “Aren’t you scared, Sherlock? Seeing death right in front of you, smelling his breath of blood and pain, hearing little John’s muffled cries, oh, what a shame.” Moriarty turned around, his face teasing.

Sherlock was actually very afraid, for he could only imagine what would life be like in the hands of the Napoleon of crime. Last time, in the incident of the Reichenbach’s fall, he at least had his brother’s support and a fail-safe plan. This time was totally different. He had nothing to rely on. He was really going to die.

“No time to cry, Sherlock. Say goodbye one last time to your beloved London.” Moriarty said in a eerie voice so soft it sent the chills down one’s spinal cord. Suddenly he grabbed Sherlock’s collar and whispered in his ears, “That’s what you get for upsetting Sebastian.”

Professor Moriarty yelled towards the London streets beneath their feet, “Don’t make me furious, or you will end up _**just. like. this. pig**._ ”

Sherlock opened his mouth, wanting to protest. But with a hammer hit on the back of his head, he passed out on the ground.


	5. Waking up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock woke up in the chamber, and was greeted by Moriarty. He saw the bloody state of John and said goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I was really considering deleting this fic because it is getting boring now... isn't it? And... I don't know how to continue  
> But I think at least I'll finish it... it is mean leaving an unfinished fic, it's just like abandoning a crying baby XD. Fine I dont know what i was talking about...

Sherlock woke up, feeling the cold. He licked his lips and tasted the copper taste of blood. His brain was skimming through a list of explanations on why his lips were bleeding, and the word "John" just shot out. Damn, Sherlock thought. He shot open his eyes and realized that he was in some kind of chamber. 

He tried to move his hands and legs, and were surprised to find that he was not bound. Suddenly a cold, metallic voice rang in his ears and echoed against the steel walls of the room. "Nice sleep, Sherlock? I've been watching you sleep, how calm and peaceful you are when you sleep. I do hope that kind of peacefulness can stay with you, because you're gonna be very, very, sad in my hands."

Sherlock flinched at the voice of Moriarty. "Don't you worry that I'm going to strangle you with my bare hands?" He referred to his unbound limbs. 

Moriarty laughed. "If you kill me, you'll never find your little puppy. He suffered injuries that requires immediate medical attention, or he'll die. And, you care far too much about him that you'll never run away, or fight, unless you know that your puppy dear is somewhere safe."

"Where's John?" The detective asked. 

"I'm taking you to meet him right away." Moriarty flicked Sherlock's face. "And you'll be able to kiss him goodbye."  
***  
Sherlock reluctantly followed Moriarty out the room. They were in a long hallway, Sherlock noted that down and worked to construct a mental map of whatever building he was currently in. His furrowed brows caught Moriarty's attention and he quickly produced a black cloth out of nowhere and blindfolded Sherlock with it. "Sorry, dear, but I can't take risk, can I?"  
***  
Sherlock's mind was burning up in eagerness to meet John, no matter what broken state he was in. It seemed like forever before someone finally lifted that blindfold away. He blinked, quickly adapting to the colours. He opened his eyes wide and very soon, regretted it. In front of him was a scene of horror that Sherlock almost threw up. It was a bloody mess. Pools of blood splattered on the floor, and in the centre of the room, was a person whose limbs were chained to the corners of the chamber. With one closer look, Sherlock discovered with terror that the blood-covered, battered face was indeed, John's. 

Sherlock was weak in the knees and knelt down, his face touching John's. He whispered in his ears, "John... John... what has he done to you..."

Moriarty popped out. "Sorry to interrupt this blissful moment, but, he's unconscious, he cannot answer you." He said with a wicked smile. "However, seeing that you're so eager, I'll wake him up." He gestured his fellow men to pour a basket of icy cold water onto John's head. Slowly opening his eyes, pupils enlarged with fear, John regained consciousness. He caught sight of Sherlock and immediately straightened up. His eyes were wide open with terror, and he violently moved his arms, leaving the chains rattling. He was obviously attempting to say something, but the gag in his mouth prevented so. 

Sherlock reached out to him, trying to find a part on his body that wasn't bleeding. Unable to do so, he stroked John fondly on his head, fingers seeping into the forest of hair, clogged with dirt and sweat. "John... it's okay, John. I'm here, Moriarty will let you out because now he has me to play with." Upon hearing this, John just shook his head vigorously. Tears welled up in his eye sockets, and because John was a brave man who didn't really cry, Sherlock was shocked to see that John was expressing his weakness. A look of pure sadness and hopelessness was written on his face, and he was still attempting to say something. 

Impatiently, Sherlock pulled the gag out of his mouth. "For god's sake, let him talk!"

"Sherl... Sherlock..."John's voice was croaked and unnatural. "Don't... You must run... You're going to die... He... he... will torture you to death. You can't do this for me... why did you come, you idiot! He'll kill you!"

Sherlock pulled him close. "Because i can't let them kill you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I got time I'll write the remaining chapters.


	6. A tearful goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock was forced to whip John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit sad, i really hope that this chapter will not ruin your mood of the day...

“Okay, that’s enough now. Romantic tragedy… How very sweet.” Moriarty said in a wicked tone. “But I’m afraid Sherlock has to go now, Johnny-boy, he has the rest of his life’s time to play with me.”  
John leaned into Sherlock’s chest, nuzzling his neck. “Moriarty, you pig, don’t lay your filthy hands on Sherlock! Don’t you dare!” He was screaming so desperately.   
Moriarty eyed John, raising his brows and said mockingly, “Always the brave little soldier boy.” He approached, his fingertips clutching John’s chin and pulled his head up, “Where. Are. Your. Manners? Let’s get you educated, shall we?”  
A cruel-looking armed man who had been tailing behind the criminal suddenly walked out, holding a blood-dripping whip. He readied himself about ten feet in front of John and was about to whip him, when Moriarty held out a hand and stopped him. “We’ve just recruited a new man, haven’t we? Sherlock, it’s your go now.” He handed the whip to Sherlock.   
Sherlock turned his head and refused to take it. Moriarty, murmuring a “What a shame”, asked his men to beat Sherlock until he yielded. While a really heavy blow in the stomach sent Sherlock crashing onto the floor and probably smashing his elbow, another kick in the chest produced a sickening sound of rib bones breaking, he did not even whimpered.   
John, though bounded, looked so hurt and broken with every wound Sherlock suffered, yelled for them to stop. “Sherlock! Sherlock! Listen to them and do it! I probably can’t even feel it, a few strikes won’t do much harm.” He sighed when he knew Sherlock wouldn’t listen. “DO IT, or I’ll smash my head onto the wall THIS INSTANT!”  
Sherlock still did not give up. John charged towards the icy walls and banged his head against it. Blood instantly dripped from his forehead, along his cheeks, leaving trails of reddish lines on his face.   
Sherlock, petrified by John’s threat, reluctantly took the whip and walked towards John. His hands were shaking, and so were his legs. “John, I am so sorry.” Something wet rolled along his face and Sherlock realized by surprise that they were tears. Tears? He hadn’t cried once ever since he was five, after Victor Trevor died.   
“Good boy, good boy. I was thinking thirty strokes, but since you behaved, now let’s reduce it to twenty. This is going to be your parting gift with your puppy dog, make sure you whip him nice and hard. I’ll let him go if I’m satisfied.”  
Sherlock took a deep breath and wiped away his tears. “Let’s go, John.” He raised his whip and hit John on his back. A moan left John’s mouth, and he tried very hard not to scream when the wounds on his back were reopened. “One,” Sherlock counted. He hit him again, also on the back, and this time John couldn’t help but let out a little scream. His body was shaking so hard that the shackles and chains moved violently. “Two.” Sherlock missed his back and whipped him on his left arm instead. The flesh was immediately torn away and dark red blood went streaming out. Sherlock ignored the turning of his stomach and continued. “Three.”  
Four.   
Five.   
Six.   
If he could numb himself, maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much. Every hit on John meant a stab in Sherlock’s heart, only one hundred times more painful.   
Eighteen.   
Nineteen.   
One last whip. He could do this. I could do this, Sherlock thought to himself. His memories floated back to the two’s first meeting, the innocent look in John’s eyes when he muttered the word “Amazing” in the cab. The joy of being praised gushed into Sherlock’s heart like honey. The voice of John, asking him to buy milk, scolding him for creating a mess in the kitchen; the quick but steady footsteps of John, always following him around, tolerating him, giving him support; the smile on John’s face, the pure happiness he felt for his friend after solving a case; the carefree nights they spent together, wandering around like two fools on the London streets…  
Sherlock glanced down onto his hands, knuckles white from grasping the whip too hard. He looked at John, bloody and barely conscious. What has he done? Sherlock realized with horror.   
“Tick tock, tick tock!” Moriarty whispered in his ears. “One stroke left, and your Johnny-boy can go home. Why are you always so selfish? Your friend is one step away from safety, and now you worry about your ethics. Not an angel, after all.”  
Sherlock took a deep breath and whipped John again. John let out a scream and slipped into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost finished, don't worry. Their hardship will be over very soon. A few more chapters to the great finale: a happy ending, of course


	7. Play-time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John was released.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, soon, soon they'll get out. And a happy ending I've promised!

“Atta boy! Atta boy!” Moriarty walked in, clapping his hands. “Finally! I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long.”  
Sherlock was still out of breath, and breathlessly said, “Let. Him. Go. I’m all yours.”  
Laughing, the man in the Westwood suit fished a key out from his pocket and knelt down to unlock the chains from John’s wrists and ankles. The metal, still damp from blood, old and fresh, fell onto the floor with a loud bang.   
The unconscious John slumped onto the floor like a ball of cotton, and Sherlock immediately rushed towards him. Gingerly touching his numerous wounds, Sherlock held the weak man in his arms.   
“What are you going to do with him?”   
“Once I’ve ensured that you are cooperative, I’ll send him away. Dump him in a waste bin or on the road, whatever.” Moriarty waved his hands, getting excited.   
Sherlock heaved a long sigh. He picked John up and kissed him softly on the cheek, whispering, “You’d never know how much I love you. Goodbye John, find yourself a girlfriend, and stay away from danger. Have a happy family, be a father, alright?”  
Sherlock couldn’t see the blinking eyes of John, tired but focused on him. A line of tears rolled down from John’s cheek but Sherlock could not feel it. How John wanted to say in his ears, “Me too, Sherlock, me too.” But he could not. He opened his mouth but no words came out. Unfortunately none of this caught the attention of Sherlock.   
Silently Sherlock walked towards the chains and knelt down. He slipped his hands and legs into the cuffs. “Lock me up, you bastard, and take John to a bloody hospital.”  
Shaking his head Moriarty looked amused. “Look at you, kitten. So defenseless, weak and foolish. No, I won’t lock you up, Sherlock, that’s not fun. Beating people is boring, except when I use it as a bait to lure you out. We’re in for something exciting!”  
“And yes, just dump him on the street. Let’s cross our fingers that someone will be kind enough to treat him, or he will really die. Saddie, saddie…” Moriarty referred to John.   
That look in John’s eyes was beyond the description of words. It was a mixture of love, hatred, longingness, sympathy, and unspoken sadness.   
“C’mon, c’mon,” The consulting criminal patted Sherlock on his back. “Move, it’s play-time!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Patience, I'm hurrying on this now


	8. Admit it, you are lonely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock fighting himself. Sherlock admitting that he is lonely. Alone no longer protects him. Along hurts him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SHORT CHAPTER! SHORT CHAPTER WARNING
> 
> Listen I know I havent been starting on this for a bit of a while. I've probably just lost an amount of readers... but i will try to speed up and finish this asap  
> can anyone be kind enough to leave a comment and tell me what you think of my story and how it should be continued

Sherlock was exhausted. Where’s John? Where’s him when he’s most needed? This total darkness, the loneliness, was more than Sherlock could possibly bear.

Sherlock’s own cold voice rang in his head. “Alone protects me.” He once said. That was true, he was weird, he was strange. Being alone made him untouchable. He was a ghost, no sentiment, no attachment, whatsoever. No one could hurt him when he was invisible.

But now? Now was different. Sherlock had been happy. He had tasted the sweetness of friendship, and _love_. John made him complete. He no longer needed to be alone. Why would he? He had a _lover,_ who loved him just as much. Sherlock could do anything for John. _Anything._

He was almost in a state of ecstasy when he was with John. The feeling, the completeness, it was beyond the description of words. And yet now he was alone again, in the dark, in silence. That was unbearable.

 _But he could bear anything for_ John _. As long as he played along with Moriarty, John might live._

At the thought of John, Sherlock was torn back to the painful reality in front of him. He was in a box. A metal chest. He could feel the icy touch on his pale skin. He could not stretch his legs. He was in a, kind of, fetal kneeling position.

Around him was silence. Darkness. Loneliness.

 **Loneliness is an old friend.** A voice in his mind said.

No, loneliness **was** an old friend. But the arrival of John, the sunshine he brought to me, chased the loneliness away.

**You should be familiar with being alone. You are always alone.**

I have never felt more alone in my whole life. Every moment when I am awake, I thought of John. In my dreams, I dreamt of John. When I’m thinking, I think of John. John is my everything. John is everywhere. I once had him and now he’s gone. I am _alone. I am lonely._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, you know I value your comments, please, please. I'm so lost in my thoughts


	9. To destroy a genius

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moriarty planning to make Sherlock break. Will he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay yay I've got some ideas as to how this should end. You'd love it

“Boring, boring, _boring!_ ” Moriarty said to himself. He was getting impatient. He gave a kick to the box at his feet, and could hear nothing but the metal cling.

This experiment he was conducting, was certainly a difficult one. One hour? One day? Two days? He thought he would soon get Sherlock to yield. It had been three days since Sherlock was put in that box, and yet he had not even make a moan.

Normal people, the idiots, would scream their heads off in thirty minutes. Moriarty tapped his feet. But Sherlock, three days and he was still as strong as the metal chest itself. It was dawning on him that he had definitely underestimated Sherlock. He’s got minds of steel.

Moriarty glanced at the CCTV footage inside the box. Sherlock was thinking. He was _always_ thinking. _DULL._ What’s in his mind all the time? Moriarty wondered. He wanted to peel his prisoner’s scalp open and take a good look at the amazing world underneath.

Three days and he hadn’t scream. How many more days until Sherlock was driven mad? It was a major disruption to Moriarty’s plan. All the delicate works, the tools, the melodrama, was just his experiment to see how much Sherlock could bear. This _superman_ , smart and cold, how far would he have to be pushed to break?

It had always been a wonderful sight, seeing a genius break under his heels. The fascinating feeling of crushing that soul, shattering those dreams, it had been Moriarty’s dream come true. And Sherlock, had been the most challenging opponent.

Moriarty rolled his eyes, seeing that Sherlock was still thinking. And _smiling._ Smiling? What kind of a man smiles under such tortures? He should have kept John. He should have killed John in front of Sherlock. _That_ would break him.

Moriarty tapped his fingers on the table. The beat echoed around the room. He was formulating a plan. A plan to _destroy_ Sherlock.

***

There’s a knock on the door. “My Sebby.” Moriarty smiled and opened the door. Moran was standing in the hallway.

“Professor.” He said, eyes on the floor. “You have summoned me.”

Moriarty felt light. He was always amazed by how obedient and small his Sebby was before him. He was like a tiny little bean, adorable.

“Yes my dear. Find John Watson. And bring him to me.”


	10. Brothers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the shortest chapter existing in this world, but I just like how it ends here. I promise, next chapter will be longer. MORE EXCITING too XD

Mycroft Holmes walked John to his flat. He was weak, but he was fine.

“Don’t worry, Dr. Watson. I will ask my men to provide you with the best medical services in this town.”

John sighed. “It’s not myself that I was worried about. It’s… you know… it’s him.” He put his hand in his hair. “It is just, that feeling when you desperately wanted to save him, but this useless body, this limp, this wound, this bruise, you can do nothing. I don’t suppose you have any of that experience before, Mycroft? You’re a superman. I’m just a guy.”

The cold eyes on Mycroft’s face softened. “You have no idea, Doctor. Sherlock was not someone that one can easily stop worrying about.” Mycroft started fiddling with his suit when he thought of that painful history. “Some years ago Sherlock had serious things with drugs. He made himself inhuman. He made himself the psychopath he is now. But did you know, it was always I, who held him in my arms, he being unconscious in some back alleys, weak with drugs abuse? In normal days he shut everyone out. He shut _me_ out.  The only time when I could really take a good look at him, was in the EU. I watched him, the machines beeping dangerously, his heart rate unsteady, his brows knitted with loneliness.” Mycroft took a deep breath and tried to steady himself. “I am the brother. Sherlock has always been emotional. He needs to be taken care of. But I can’t. There’s something in me that prevents me from understanding him. It is I who put him in this state. Who else am I to blame? It’s all my fault. I am no better. Even with this intelligence, I’m still a _psychopath_ , Doctor Watson.”

John’s heart felt heavy. “But there must be something we can do, Mycroft! We cannot just stand here and do nothing! Sherlock is out there, and he is possibly dying. Promise me, Mycroft,” John took his arm firmly. “Fight with me. Find Moriarty. Save Sherlock.”

With a small nod, Mycroft turned around and walked down the street. In a few steps he turned back and said, “I will.”


	11. The rescue mission

John woke up with sores on his body. His bedsheets were bright red from the blood dripping down his improperly healed wounds. He lifted himself up with his elbow, and a groan of pain escaped his mouth.

It was five in the morning, and John was not sleepy. Just worn out. He knew Mycroft was here, in his daily morning checks. John croaked his voice and called Mycroft.

“Yes, Doctor Watson?” Mycroft went rushing in, with a look of annoyance on his face. “I presume that you have more important things to tell me than an outburst of sentiments? Perhaps information of Moriarty’s network?”

“M…Mycroft, I think I know where Sherlock is. I can remember its neighbourhood.”

“And you’re sure your memory is reliable? No offence, but, torture victims tend to have a wilder imagination.”

John was furious. “Are you going to listen, or are you going to sit here and watch Sherlock dies?”

Mycroft opened his mouth and shut it again. “So enlighten me, Doctor.”

***

John walked on the street, balancing difficultly on his walking stick. Each step torn open his old wounds and he didn’t mind. He could endure _anything_ for Sherlock.

Behind him were Mycroft’s super minions team. They were planning to attack Moriarty and his men while John was diverting their attention. And for diversion, John thought, meant more _pain_. But he did not mind. He did not mind at all. If Sherlock died, he might as well die with him. He could not live alone. Not when his love of his life died a painful death.

They arrived at the river bank. Across the waters was that abandoned factory that Moriarty used. John took a deep breath. He could do this. He could go to hell again. He could do this for Sherlock.

***

John stood before the rusty gate of the old factory. The place where he suffered hell. The place where he broke under immense pain and torments.

He was calm. Sherlock was all he could think of now. Silently, he gestured for Mycroft’s men to come in and position themselves.

They stood in silent for a few seconds when a round of gunshots rang in John’s ears.

The ten men behind John dropped dead onto the ground one by one. Boom, dead. John was frozen with fear. And he did not see the man walking out from the rusty gate.

“Well, well, John, it’s always nice to see you. I’ve been expecting you. What took you so long, Johnny-boy?” It was the devilish voice of the man who brought torture upon John for days. The Devil in a suit. Moriarty.

All hope was shattered. Only John remained. Why would Moriarty keep him alive? There was nothing John could do for Sherlock anymore. He was weak and useless.

“Has that wound in your leg healed? Is it I who smacked your bone there? Does it hurt?” Moriarty pulled a face that sent chills down John’s spine. Those days were memories that he would never want to remember. “Did you wail like a baby when I tear your flesh apart? And those screams! What happy times! Did you miss me?” Moriarty laughed wickedly.

“But, that’s not why you come, yes? You come for your lover. Do you seriously think that those rubbish Mycroft Holmes trained can beat me?” Moriarty pointed at the dead bodies on the ground. “D’you know why I kept you alive, puppy? So that you can watch Sherlock fall into pieces. I cannot do that without you. Sherlock will only break because of you.”

 


	12. I've come, I've come

Sherlock leaned his head against the cold metal board. He smiled.

He had heard the gunshots outside. And his great mind had not failed him. The great detective had deduced everything. _John, his John,_ is coming to save him.

***

There’s a knock on his metal cage. “Sherlly my dear, cookoo, wake up! Puppy John is waiting to lick your face!” Sherlock rolled his eyes.

The sound of the heavy lock turning and a seep of light entered the darkness of his cage. The sudden rush of light gave Sherlock a headache. Being in the dark for four days now, his eyes were not accustomed to bright light.

Moriarty reached his hands to pull Sherlock out, and he stumbled on the ground. He was in a kneeling position for so long that his legs were weak.

He scanned the room, jotting down every detail he could see, and his gaze stopped at the sight of John. Weak and crumbling, barely standing on his stick. His heart suddenly ached. He had to get John out. It was a dangerous situation.

“John.” Sherlock’s throat were dry. He had not had a single drop of water since he was held captive. “You’re here. I… m…miss you.”

John ran (more like crawl actually) towards Sherlock and hugged him. He held Sherlock’s head in his arms and caressed his back soothingly. “Ssh… Me too, Sherlock, you don’t know how much I love you.”

Moriarty rolled his eyes. “It… is sweet. Such a shame it’s ending so soon.” He turned to Sherlock and held his chin with his long fingers. “Sherlock, I will break you. Crush that little brain of yours. But no rush, we have all the time in the world. First I have to take care of my little Sebby, who is so thirsty for revenge.”

He snapped his fingers and Moran walked into the room. “Sebastian, much as I want to let you have the fun, I have other plans. As compensation, I’ll let you watch the whole thing.” Then, Moriarty took out a whip from a bag on the floor and held it for John. “Familiar, isn’t it? Remember, Sherlock, the tender strokes you left on John’s body? Now you are going to do the same, John. For the twenty lashes your men left on Sebastian, I will double that on you, Sherlock.”

John spat on Moriarty’s hand. Moriarty frowned a bit and laughed. “Oi, that’s a little puppy!” He cleaned his hand on John’s shirt. “Do it!”

“Or what?”

“Well, or I’ll just kill him.”

“You dare!” John’s eyes shot with hot white fury, and he produced a gun from his pocket. It was a tiny revolver, aimed straight at Moriarty’s forehand. Dozens of armed men raised their guns and pointed them at John. But John did not faze. He would not waste his only chance to save Sherlock.

“Oh, wow!” Moriarty clapped his hands in fake amazement. “There’s the little soldier boy!” He snapped his fingers and motioned for everyone to put their guns down.

“You should use that strength on the whip. Pity… It would be a nice sight on Sherlock.”

John tensed up and pressed the gun tip on Moriarty’s head. “Release him, or I will kill you.” John said in his soldier voice, calm and low.

Moriarty took a revolver from his back pocket and aimed it at John. But he said, “Oh I should have known better…” and aimed it at Sherlock instead. “Put the gun down.”

John looked at the defenseless Sherlock and sighed. Seeing that there was no other choice, he put the gun on the floor, ignoring Sherlock’s strained shouting for him to stop. John put both of his hands up.

“Kneel.”

John did as told and sank onto the floor. “NO! John, NO!” Sherlock yelled.

“Take the whip.”

John did not take it immediately, as he allowed himself some time to think. But Moriarty was impatient, and he picked a knife from the table and stabbed Sherlock on his back. A pained muffled scream came out from his mouth.

“No!” John shouted. “I’ll take it.”


	13. Happy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so that's the end. It's finished. Hope you've enjoyed it. Tho I have reli enjoyed my self in writing this... excuse me for the shitty ending and shitty OOCs and shitty writings

“Good boy!” Moriarty waved his arms to gesture his men out of the room, except Moran. John reluctantly took the whip. “Go on, be quick, beat him!”

John had no choice. He slashed out and closed his eyes when Sherlock screamed in agony. “I’m sorry, Sherlock, I really am.” He mumbled.

After twenty lashes, Sherlock was already unconscious. John knelt on the floor, exhausted, both physically and mentally.

“Moriarty, Sherlock is suffering. He is tortured. I want to end his pain.” John stumbled the words out slowly, gingerly, like it was explosives in his mouth. “Please, let me make him go peacefully. Please.”

Moriarty looked amused. “You know, Johnny, that you never cease to amaze me. I had wanted to play with Sherlock a little longer, but seeing you begging, it is a really rare opportunity. _Lovers killing one another_. Fascinating.” Moriarty took Moran’s gun and gave it to John. “Sorry, Sebby, I’ll let you play with another guy next time, I cannot waste this moment.”

“Finally.” John said to himself, walked over to Sherlock, planted a kiss on his cheek, and pointed the gun tip at him. He didn’t move for a few seconds, but he suddenly turned around, and shot Moriarty in his head. Moran ran to the professor’s rescue and wrestled with John. John knew he was weak, and not in any way fit for a fight, but with Sherlock on mind, he could feel a brand new stream of energy in his muscles. He pinned Moran on the ground and shot him dead.

After checking that the two of them were dead, John lay on the ground, exhausted. In his fight, he had torn open many wounds and they were really painful.

The chamber door was suddenly opened and John immediately got up, ready for a fight. He could only see the sickening figure of a man dressed in a nice suit, tapping his umbrella on the floor.

“Errr, Mycroft, why are you _always_ late?” John said. He was so very tired.

“I am sorry, Doctor. I’ve hurried. So, Sherlock, how’s he?” Mycroft said with a genuine look of concern on his face.

At the mention of his name, Sherlock lifted his head up. “Haven’t you just passed out?” John asked confused.

With a huge grin, Sherlock said, “Of course not, my dear John, I’m just… _urging_ you to take action. I have had past experience of being whipped, and I can stand it longer than normal people.” Sherlock smiled. “But… I _am_ in pain, and I really _am_ weak. So Mycroft stop idling with your stupid umbrella and GET US OUT.”

John sighed. “Sherlock? You know that you can actually say _thank you_ to me for saving your life?”

“Yeah _thank you_ John.” Sherlock said dramatically, while Mycroft was working on his chains. Once he was freed, he stumbled towards John and held his head in his hands. “Though I prefer a much better way of saying thank you.” And he kissed John.

Mycroft cleared his throat. “Well, my job is done, I’d better be off now.” He smiled awkwardly.

“You know Mycroft,” Sherlock said between kisses, “love is a magical thing. You should find yourself a goldfish, like… _Greg Lestrade_.”

Mycroft blushed. “Nonsense, Sherlock. I’m married to my work.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Oh god, brother dear, are you seriously daring me to tell everyone what you did every night with the DI in your house? I can _smell_  him on you.”

Mycroft blushed even more. “What the f… Sherlock."


End file.
